


A Disturbing Development

by KatesBrain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scar-link with Voldemort, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-25
Updated: 2005-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatesBrain/pseuds/KatesBrain
Summary: Harry Potter tells the story of an unwelcome connection between him and Voldemort, and how it helped in Voldemort’s demise.- originally posted Nov 2004





	A Disturbing Development

 

 

  
Author's notes: AU, in that it is post OotP, but the “d” word didn’t happen to Sirius.  Instead, he survived, and because of what happened in the Department of Mysteries, his name has been cleared.

Thanks to **Sue** and **Stella** for betaing this.

After betaing another of my stories and coming across a brief mention to Harry’s unfortunate link through his scar, my Fic-Pusher, Sue, insisted I wrote a whole story dedicated to it.  This is the result…

 

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_I thought I should let you know that we’ve heard some news about Voldemort.  Apparently, he has gone back to trying out various spells, incantations and rituals in order to become immortal.  I don’t think you’re in any danger at the moment, but unfortunately, Remus is._

_It seems that werewolf blood is used quite a lot in these sorts of rituals, and there have been a few reports of werewolves going missing, so he’s had to go into hiding—you know where._

_I’m staying indoors with him as much as possible, trying to keep him sane.  I certainly know how it feels to be trapped inside, with no prospect of any change in the near future.  Hopefully, I can find plenty of things to distract him with.  At least he’s not an impatient idiot, like me; he’s far too sensible to go anywhere he shouldn’t._

_Good luck with the Quidditch today—make sure you thrash those Slytherins!_

_Sirius_

 

I guess my biggest concern of the day _should_ have been the contents of Sirius’s letter.  And it was, for a while.  When it came to the Quidditch match, I managed to put it out of my mind well enough to concentrate on catching the Snitch and helping Gryffindor to win.  I had expected to then spend the evening stewing over the thought of an immortal Tom Riddle, but the events that followed straight after the match changed my priorities somewhat.

If it had happened in Gryffindor Tower, maybe it wouldn’t have been so difficult to keep quiet.  Or at least, it wouldn’t have become the topic of conversation for the _entire_ population of Hogwarts.  But no, my life has to be kept as interesting as possible…

So, we won at Quidditch.  The two teams descended to the ground, and friends were starting to run onto the pitch to congratulate us.  I was being hugged from all directions, and I felt great.  Voldemort was alive, and he had plans that were anything but good, yet I was happy—perhaps that should have given me an inkling that the apple cart was due to be upset once more. 

 A flashbulb went off in my face, temporarily blinding me, and the next person to hug me was Colin Creevey. 

Now normally, I would avoid _any_ sort of physical contact with him—I’d always been a bit dubious about his intentions towards me, and I’d never wanted to give him the wrong impression.  Well, on that day, I failed miserably in this respect.  To my horror, in the middle of being bear-hugged, something happened to my scar that had never occurred before.  Oh, I _had_ previously felt Voldemort’s emotions through it, on many occasions, but never one _quite_ like this. 

The scar started to tingle, and then it flared up, but instead of the usual accompanying pain, it came with a wave of pleasure—one that went straight to my groin.  It felt as if there was a mouth wrapped around my dick, sucking on it like there was no tomorrow.  It seemed that Voldemort had finally got himself a sex life, and unfortunately for me, the direct link forged between us by the scar also turned out to be a direct link to my penis. 

I was mortified.  Colin, on the other hand, was grinning ecstatically, as though I’d just had an epiphany and had started to see him in a new light.  It took ages to prise him away from me, and then—in those badly designed Quidditch trousers—my reaction had been plain for all to see.  Of course, it had to happen on the day we played against the Slytherins. 

Malfoy looked as though he had won the Muggle lottery, especially when he saw how disturbed I was by the whole affair. 

“Got yourself a boyfriend, Potter?” he sneered at me, and for once, I didn’t have a retort.  I just put my head down and went to march straight off the pitch, rather awkwardly, thanks to the persistent erection. 

As I did so, Colin called after me, and I groaned inside.  There was no way I was going to talk to him in front of everyone about what had just happened.  And if I had my way, there wouldn’t be _any_ discussion with him at all.

“Not now, Colin!” I snapped at him over my shoulder.

“I’ll come and find you later then.  Okay, Harry?”

I heard the sniggers at the way he said this, and all I could think was, “not if I can help it”.

**

“Harry, are you all right?” Ron asked, with a worried expression on his face.

I had taken a hurried wash in the showers to avoid everyone else, to avoid the crowds of people discussing me; the plan was to get back to the dormitory, where I could tell Ron and Hermione about this disturbing change in my scar, in private.  But as I was getting dressed, Ron arrived from the pitch.

I pulled my robes over my head and gave him a look that said, “What do you think?”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled awkwardly, fiddling with the twigs on his broomstick.  “I mean… it’s a bit weird, but… you could’ve told me.  I don’t mind.”

“What are you talking about, Ron?”

“You liking boys… Colin.”

I was stunned: he actually believed that Colin had been the cause of my reaction.  “I don’t… I didn’t…  I’m not—”

The word “gay” never reached my lips.  The others had started to join us in the changing rooms, and I clammed up.  There was no way I was having this conversation now.

“I’ll talk to you back in the dorm,” I said curtly before escaping all the amused faces that were looking in my direction.

To my annoyance, Colin was waiting for me in the corridor.  Evidently “later” had meant as soon as he could get me alone.

“Harry, can we talk?  About what happened, because I really—”

“ _Nothing_ happened, Colin; it was because of my scar, nothing more.  I’m not interested, okay.”

“But, Harry—”

“Go away, Colin.”

I stormed off, hearing him sniff behind me.  As I turned the corner, I nearly ran smack into Hermione.

“Not now,” I muttered, continuing past her on my way up to Gryffindor Tower.

I guess I should have known better than to leave Hermione in the same corridor with a teary Colin, but I didn’t think about that at the time.  I was too busy sulking and making a quick escape for the privacy of my dormitory so I could avoid any more humiliation.

** 

It wasn’t long before Ron and Hermione came up to the dorm, and I smiled as they came in, feeling relieved that I could now talk about what had really happened.  To my surprise, I received a glare from Hermione. 

“You weren’t very fair to poor Colin,” Hermione said as she and Ron sat down next to me on my bed. 

“Well, what did he expect me to say, ‘let’s start dating’?”

“It’s not his fault he thought you were interested.”  Hermione raised her eyebrows pointedly at me, and she even had the audacity to smirk when she spoke again.  “You did get his hopes up.”   

“ _I_ got his hopes up?” I asked incredulously.  “That wasn’t my fault! How can I help it if I’m now getting…disturbing sensations through my scar?”

“Colin said you blamed it on your scar, and I think it’s a bit off, using that as an excuse.”

“An excuse?” I was amazed that they would seriously think there would be any other explanation for my earlier reaction.  I looked at Ron, hoping to get some sort of moral support, but to my dismay he just grinned sheepishly.

“Yes.  An excuse,” Hermione insisted.  “I don’t know whether you just happened to get an erection at the wrong time and you’re genuinely not interested, or whether you do like Colin and you’re just too scared to admit it.  Either way, telling him it was your scar is not on.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You have to admit, Harry.  It does sound a bit far fetched,” Ron mumbled.

“Far fetched? But it really was my scar.  Ron, you remember when I said before, about knowing when Avery was being tortured, or when Voldemort was happy?”

“Yeah, but this is different.  I can understand that You-Know-Who would want to hurt someone, or would be happy when something’s going right for him, but I can’t believe that, after all this time, he’s _suddenly_ having _that_ sort of…ugh!  You’re sick for even suggesting it!”

“We’re your friends, Harry,” Hermione said, placing a hand on my arm, obviously thinking it was going to somehow placate me.  “We won’t judge you for being attracted to another boy.”

“I’m not gay!”

But it was no use: neither of them believed me.  Hermione was convinced that I was in denial, that the scar was just an excuse to get myself off the hook, and apparently she had said as much to Colin.  To say that I wasn’t happy with their lack of trust in me was a bit of an understatement.  Given how much of a bossy know-it-all Hermione can be, I didn’t really expect to change her mind on the subject, but Ron—my best mate—how could he be such an ignorant… After all we had been through in the fourth year, when he hadn’t believed me about not putting my name in the Goblet of Fire; I was hurt that he would still think I was capable of lying to him about something as big as this.  But evidently, he didn’t see it as a big deal; he saw it as me not coping with my sexuality.  So I gave up trying to change their minds and went back to sulking instead.

**

We walked down to dinner in silence, and all hopes for a relatively quiet meal were dashed as soon as I entered the Great Hall, where Dennis Creevey was waiting for me.  

“What are you playing at with my brother?” he asked, far too loudly, and I could hear the various conversations in the hall rapidly fade away.  I knew that everyone was now looking at us.  “Colin would do anything for you, Harry, but you have to treat him like this.  I’ve told him that you’re not worth the effort—you don’t deserve someone as decent as him—but he still reckons he’s going to wait until you’ve finally come to terms with your sexuality.”

“ _My_ sexuality?” I said, feeling my face heating up from sheer humiliation; as if what happened on the Quidditch pitch hadn’t been embarrassing enough.  “I’m already well aware of that, thank you very much.”

“Opinions of this sort of thing might vary widely in the Muggle world, but it’s not considered abnormal in the Wizarding world at all,” Dennis said with disdain.  “You might have been brought up to think that it’s wrong, but luckily for people like my brother, there are a lot of Muggles out there who think differently.”

I admit that this did make me think, albeit briefly.  I realised that, although I hadn’t been brought up to think it was unnatural behaviour, I hadn’t actually had any encounters with the subject matter in my life—until now.  As you might appreciate, the whole introduction to same-sex relations had come as a bit of a shock.  But I was positive that I wasn’t gay.  How could I have fancied Cho Chang if that was the case?

“But I’m not interested in Colin.”

“I don’t care _who_ you are interested in.  In future, just stop being such a bastard to my brother.”

He walked out of the hall, carrying a plate of food that was probably for Colin, and I slumped down at the table.  Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t hungry anymore. 

**

Over the next few days, I received unwanted attention from all directions.  The Slytherins ridiculed me; Colin was blatantly stalking me; all those who thought fondly of Colin now hated me; Hermione and Ron acted as if they thought I was finally cracking up, and there were even a few propositions that came my way.  It seemed that there wasn’t a student in the castle who hadn’t heard. 

This was all bad enough, and I think it might have died down, eventually, if only my scar hadn’t played up again.

It occurred the following weekend, when Fred and George turned up unexpectedly, claiming they had come purely to visit Ron and Ginny.  Hermione and I joined them all for a walk on the grounds, but it soon became clear what Fred and George’s real motivation was for coming to Hogwarts.

“How are things going between you and Colin?” Fred asked as he and George grinned wickedly at me.  “Picked out an engagement ring yet?”

So it seemed that it wasn’t only the student population of Hogwarts who knew.  What was next? I wondered. An article in _The Daily Prophet_?  Looking over at Ron, I could see the git was also smirking.  My so-called best friend, _smirking_.

“I don’t like Colin, and I’m not gay,” I said, for what seemed like the thousandth time that week.

“You really are in denial!” Fred laughed.  “There’s nothing wrong with being gay.  Take Oliver Wood for instance, he’s gay, and he even admitted to having a thing for Marcus Flint—”

“He said Flint’s got a wicked pair of thighs!” George added.

“What?”  I spluttered at this disturbing revelation. 

“You see, Harry, your situation could be so much worse—well, at least your taste in men could be!” Fred said, patting a choking Ron on the back, who was evidently just as shocked by Oliver’s “thing” for Marcus Flint as I was.

“So, if you don’t like Colin, _who_ is your type?” George asked.

“Do you like red heads?”  Fred added, and Ron let out a snort of laughter. 

“It’s not funny!” I snapped.   

Hermione tactfully tried changing the subject to Fred and George’s joke shop, but it wasn’t long before they decided to have some more fun at my expense.

“Cor, it’s warm today isn’t it?” Fred said, with an undertone of fake innocence, before suddenly stripping off his shirt.

“Yeah,” George agreed, and he, too, pulled his shirt over his head.  “I’m far too hot.”

The next thing I knew, I had Fred and George walking either side of me, both of them naked from the waist up.  From the other side of George, I could hear Ron starting to laugh.

“Please, pack it in,” I pleaded as they walked close enough to brush their arms against mine.

Then George leaned over and spoke huskily in my ear; his breath tickled, and I could feel the heat from his body through my shirt.  “We’re not turning you on, are we?”

Voldemort has the most appalling timing. 

At the same time I felt George’s breath on my skin, my scar began to tingle.  I automatically closed my eyes and groaned—I actually groaned!  It just slipped out.  I couldn’t help it, not with the sensation of someone licking at my balls.  With a grim determination, I focused on blocking out the feelings of what Voldemort was doing, all the time berating myself for not learning Occlumency when I had the chance.  When I came back to reality, all I could hear was the sound of laughter.

They were in hysterics—all of them, even Hermione.  I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks at the same time the anger was stirring within me.  So I shouted at them.  I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure the words “bastards” and “wankers” featured quite prominently.  The only response I got back was the “so in denial” that Fred gasped in between chuckles.  This wasn’t exactly the best thing he could have said to help my state of mind. 

In an instant, I had my wand out, my hand shaking in fury; I just wanted to hex the lot of them.  And I tried to, but hexing accurately when feeling that upset is not the easiest thing in the world.  I ended up storming back off to the castle on my own, leaving them standing among several patches of charred grass. 

**

Neither Ron nor Hermione dared to bring the subject up again that day, or for several days after.  In fact, Hermione said very little to me at all.  I should’ve known that this silence on her part meant she was in the process of sorting out my problem another way.  I realised just what she had done when, two days later, I received a letter from Sirius.

_Harry,_

_I’ve heard about the incident with Colin, and also what happened this weekend with Fred and George.  
_

No prizes for guessing who told him…

_It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, really.  There are lots of wizards and witches who are attracted to their own sex.  I don’t know what the Dursleys have told you, but I can assure you, they’re certainly not the type of people whose opinion you want to take on this matter._

_This seems really weird telling you all this in a letter, so I’m going to visit you.  I’m coming up to Hogwarts, Saturday after next.  We can talk then, and you can ask me any questions you want—I’m sure the Dursleys weren’t exactly forward in giving you any sex education.  If you want to see me before then, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do._

_See you soon,_

_Sirius_

I wrote back immediately and told him not to bother.  But just like my similar request in the fourth year, he replied to say he was going to come anyway.  Great, a birds and bees talk from my godfather.  Just what I’d always wanted.  

**

Feeling increasingly on edge about this little heart to heart that Sirius was planning, my mind wasn’t prepared for the next instalment of porn from Voldemort, which happened on the following Monday.  It was just my luck for it to occur in Potions.

Everything was going fine, up until the point when Malfoy decided to send me that note.

I was studiously chopping feverfew stalks into one inch lengths when I was hit in the side of the head by a piece of paper.  Leaning over to pick it up from where it had fallen, Malfoy caught my eye and grinned maliciously.  I should have known better than to pick up the note and look at it there and then.

It was an animated drawing of me and Colin, kissing, looping with his hand dropping to squeeze my bum and me smiling around his lips as he did so.  Malfoy’s artwork was definitely improving from the last time he had sent me a note like this back in the third year. 

“Potter!  What is so important to drag your attention away from the lesson at hand?”

Snape was standing right behind me, and I jumped in alarm, scattering the feverfew stalks across the floor.  I tried to hide the note within the folds of my robe, but he had already seen it.  He snatched it away before I could stop him.

“I hardly think that drawing pictures of yourself and your _boyfriend_ is relevant to the lesson at hand.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ron’s head snap in my direction.  He hadn’t noticed Malfoy sending the note, and it seemed that he thought I had actually been doodling. 

“I didn’t draw that,” I denied quickly.  “Malfoy did.”

“Ten points from Gryffindor, for having the gall to accuse another student for your inattentiveness.”

My hackles rose instantly.  Why does he always have to be such a bastard?  I can only assume he must have a real insecurity complex to get off on showing people up as much as he does.

Snape had his back to the Slytherins in the classroom as he continued to rant at me, but I could still see them doubled up in silent laughter.  Malfoy caught my eye once more, and I saw him raise his wand and levitate an object across the room, towards my cauldron.  I opened my mouth to speak, but Snape cut me off.

“I don’t want to hear another word,” he snapped. 

“But—”

“But nothing,” he snarled, and I just knew that he was on the verge of taking even more points.  “Pick up those stalks.”

I sunk to my knees, biting my lip to stop myself from reacting.  I wondered just what Malfoy had done to my potion this time and hoped that, whatever it was, Snape didn’t notice.  To my dismay, I could see Snape’s boots, not walking back to the front of the classroom but motionless, inches away from me. 

“Just what have you done to your Deflating Draft?” he asked coldly.  “Are you really becoming as incompetent as Longbottom, or do you actually _enjoy_ all this attention in class?”

As I looked up, a faint prickling sensation began in the centre of my scar.  God no, I thought, not _now_. 

“Get up.”

I clambered to my feet, placing the stalks on the table, wishing that he would just go away, and soon.  I also wished that my Deflating Draft hadn’t been messed up so I could pour it down the front of my trousers.

“You never fail to surprise me with your inadequacy.  This potion has got to be one of the simplest we have done all year, and yet you are still incapable of weighing out the correct amount of boomslang skin.”

He towered over me, spitting out insults, and leaning close to my face with a snarl upon his lips.  We were inches apart.  The tingle in my scar suddenly increased tenfold.

“Well,” Snape continued, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

Like the incident with Fred and George, I groaned.

Well, apparently it wasn’t _just_ a groan.  Ron told me afterwards that it was the most carnal sound he had ever heard.

And as I groaned, I leant back on the desk, my eyes rolling back into their sockets.  I was practically swooning in front of Snape.  When I finally pushed the sensation of having something large up my arse and ramming against my prostate, I opened my eyes to see Snape staring down at the obvious tent in my robes, with a look of revulsion on his face.

“You disgusting little brat.”

**

All of the Gryffindors—apart from Ron—were more than a little pissed off at me for losing them even more points, and they thought my detention with Filch was more than justified.  I was furious that Ron, yet again, didn’t believe my version of events.  As if I’d _ever_ willingly flaunt an erection in front of Snape!  Ron had assumed I’d only done it for a laugh, believing that my physical reaction had occurred when I was thinking about Colin.  We ended up arguing over this last point for a while before deciding to avoid the subject completely, in order to keep the peace.

The Slytherins were becoming more and more insufferable, Snape was watching over my every move, waiting for me to slip up, and what did I have to look forward to?  Sex education with Sirius.

**

Saturday came round far too quickly for my liking.  Walking out of the Great Hall after breakfast, I found Sirius shuffling about uneasily in the entrance hall.  He suggested a walk around the lake.

“I’m worried about you, Harry,” he said as soon as we were out of earshot of the other students who were out in the grounds.  “But you’ve got to understand that this isn’t as big a deal as you’re making out.”  He looked me over appraisingly, gave a tiny smirk, and then added, “I think you should ask if Fred and George are up for a threesome.”

Older and supposedly wiser?  Pah! You would have thought that with his determination to make up for not being around for twelve years of my life, my bloody godfather would have shown some sort of concern, or at least sympathy.  But the git actually found it funny.

When I continued to insist it had been my link with Voldemort that had been the cause, he began to sober up. 

“You can’t cling to lies,” he said, and he actually had the gall to sound offended.  “Sometimes you have to face reality, even if it’s difficult to do so.  And persisting in using your scar as an excuse is only drawing attention to your situation.”

I glared at him.  In the past, when all I had wanted was a bit of comfort and assurance, everyone had to overreact about what my scar was doing.  Now, no one was taking me seriously.

“Harry, do you _really_ think that being gay is wrong?”

To my surprise, he looked worried as he said this.  I shook my head, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“So why do you find it so hard to admit that certain…boys turn you on?”

I could see this was going nowhere, and I thought that it was time to give Sirius a bit of a reality check.

I didn’t intend to mention the Potions incident; God knows it was bad enough living through the experience—I certainly didn’t want to talk about it with my godfather.  But I was desperate, and I hoped that telling him about my reaction in front of Snape would convince Sirius I was telling the truth. 

When he stuttered, I couldn’t stop myself from sniggering at the shock on his face.  My amusement soon faded, though, when he finally gasped, “Snivellus? You got a hard-on from Snivellus?  I really think you should be wanking more.” 

Then he said something that left me really stunned.

“God, not _another_ one.  What _is_ it with that greasy creep?”

“I do not fancy Snape!”

“Yeah, right.  I’ve heard those words before,” he said bitterly.

His tone of voice was unexpected, and underneath all that bitterness I could tell he was hurt.  Not just by my claim, but also by whoever had said the same thing to him previously.

“Who from?” I asked.

He stared at me for a moment, as if he was in two minds about answering.  I almost wish he hadn’t.

“Remus.” 

This time, the hurt in his voice was unmistakable.  All at once, I had to deal with the knowledge that someone actually found _Snape_ , of all people, attractive.  And that that someone was my ex-Defence teacher. 

Hot on the tail of this disturbing information, there came the realisation that maybe my godfather and my ex-Defence teacher were somewhat more than friends. 

“You… and Lupin?” I asked tentatively.

He nodded.  “Because the Wizarding world doesn’t think twice about these things, I never thought that it was something I’d have to formally announce to you,” he explained.  “Are you okay with it?”

“Yeah,” I squeaked back, trying to banish the sudden thought of what they’d look like kissing; I didn’t need that sort of visual distracting me from the conversation at hand.  “But you think he fancies Snape?”

“I _know_ he has a thing for that slimeball.  I’ve always known, although he used to deny it when we were at Hogwarts.  But he can’t bloody well deny it now.”

And there it was again, bitterness.

“What happened?”

“When Remus had to stop teaching at Hogwarts, Snivellus had more than one reason for telling everyone Remus is a werewolf.  You see, they were…you know…” Sirius looked highly uncomfortable saying this, and it took a few seconds for what he was implying to sink in. 

I gasped.  The thought of what Snape and Lupin looked like together, kissing, was anything but pleasant.  But at least it made me realise that what Fred had said was true: things could be worse for me.  I could have been a gay werewolf with a fetish for slimy Potions teachers.

With the nasty revelation out of the way, Sirius continued, “And Snivellus was paranoid that, with me being back, he would be out of the picture in an instant.  So he got in there first and ended things with Remus in the worst possible way.”

Sirius suddenly looked up, and following his gaze, I could see Ron walking towards us and waving to get my attention.  It was time for Quidditch practice.

“Looks like our time’s up.  Harry, if you still don’t want to accept that you might be attracted to other boys, just promise me one thing.”

“What?” I asked, the tension creeping back into my voice.

“You’ll at least spend some time thinking about the possibility.”  He smiled fondly at me, and I didn’t have the heart at that point to carry on arguing with him, not after all he had just confessed about Lupin and Snape.  “There’s a book in the restricted section of the library,” he added.  “It’s called _Wizards Who Love Wizards_.  See if you can smuggle it out and have a read through.”

**

I was curious about the book, but the intention was that I’d only be humouring him.  I’d look through, and without my anatomy being under the influence of Voldemort, I would be able to confirm that I certainly wasn’t attracted to men.  Or so I thought. 

I managed to sneak out that same evening, under my cloak, and bring the book back to the dormitory, but it wasn’t until the Sunday night that I finally had the opportunity to start looking through it.  I opted for going to the Room of Requirement, not wanting to be caught looking at something like that in the boys’ dormitory. 

It was a revelation, to say the least.  I was expecting it to just be about gay sex.  But it was about all kinds… and there’s a lot of variety, believe me. 

And there were an awful lot of pictures— _moving_ pictures.  I should have expected it, really.  After all, I had been introduced to the Wizarding world over five years ago, and I was well aware that they thought Muggle photographs were decidedly odd.  But as I started to flick through, it still came as a huge shock.  And with that much visual detail, there was no way I was going to bother reading any of the words. 

The first picture I took my time over was of two men kissing, and I was left feeling a little perplexed.  It didn’t look any different from a man kissing a woman.  I don’t know what I was expecting, but I certainly wasn’t expecting it to look so… _normal._

Then there were wizards masturbating each other, followed by wizards licking and sucking various parts of their anatomy.  By the time I stumbled across the pictures of wizards having full blown sex, there was no doubt about it, I was hard.  And I couldn’t blame the scar this time.

If I had chanced upon this book before all this trouble with my scar had started, I probably would have confided in Ron, and possibly Hermione, too.  But after the amount of time I had spent denying having any attraction to other boys, there was no way I was going to admit just how I had spent that Sunday evening to _anyone._   Absolutely no way in hell.  As if I needed to provide any more fodder to encourage the belief that I was lying about my scar. 

**

The following morning we had Potions—exactly one week after the last dire incident— and Snape spent the whole lesson pushing me, trying to get me to react so he could take more points from Gryffindor.  It was a trying morning, holding myself back just in case Voldemort decided to pick yet another inopportune moment to get his end away.  I was also busy making an effort not to think about Snape and Lupin—as much as I had enjoyed breakfast, I didn’t particularly want to become reacquainted with it. 

As the lesson drew to a close, I began to relax, but I should have known better.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape called out across the classroom.  “After the lesson, you are to accompany me to the headmaster’s office.  We need to have a little talk about your continuing lack of respect for school rules.  Even as a sixth year, you know that you do not have free rein of the restricted section.  Yet, you seem to be under the impression that taking a book without permission is somehow acceptable.”

My breakfast really wanted to make a re-appearance.  How did he find out that I had taken a book from the library?  Ron and Hermione stared at me in puzzlement and I shook my head, hoping they would wait until later before asking.  But I should have been more worried about what Snape would say next.

“For exactly which subject did you think _Wizards Who Love Wizards_ would be of use?”

The titters on the Slytherin side of the room began immediately, and were soon joined by a few of the Gryffindors laughing as well.  The bastard.  At that moment I was so tempted to make a comment relating to sex with werewolves and being turned down for ex-convicts, but I knew I couldn’t do that to Sirius—or to Lupin. 

**

I followed Snape along to Dumbledore’s office in a silent sulk, fuming at the irritating half-smirk present on Snape’s face.  I couldn’t believe that even he would do this to me—and to bring it up with Dumbledore.  I thought that at least Dumbledore would deal with the situation with a bit more tact.  Well, I guess he would have if it had just been me, him and Snape in his office…

When we arrived, I was dismayed to be greeted by several members of the Order: Sirius, who was looking decidedly worried; Lupin; McGonagall; Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Mad-Eye Moody.  It turned out that Snape had called a meeting to discuss…me!

I sat down awkwardly, squirming as they looked at me with curiosity.

“What is this about, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, peering over his glasses between me and Snape.

“It seems that Mr Potter’s claims regarding his scar are not _completely_ unfounded,” Snape admitted, once we were both seated.  “The link appears to work both ways.”

My head snapped up as he said this; Snape actually believed me.  Then I had to ask myself why, and I realised that just as I had experienced Voldemort’s sexual activities, so he must have had the experience of me wanking the night before.  I felt sick at the thought of it, of him having the sensation of my hand rubbing… No, I just couldn’t let myself finish that train of thought.  It was far too disturbing.

But it still didn’t explain how Snape knew about the book.

“As you know, Albus, I was summoned last night to help with another preparatory ritual.  Only it did not go as planned.  This _link_ between them,” he said, waving a dismissive hand in my direction, “distracted him somewhat, and he now has to repeat that part of the process.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

“There is more,” Snape continued.  “Voldemort had the sense to explore the connection, rather than push it away out of _childish_ embarrassment.  Not only was he able to feel what Potter was feeling, he was also able to see what Potter was seeing.”  So _that_ explained about the book, I realised.  “He found it very amusing to experience the immature fumblings of a _little boy_ masturbating over pictures of copulating wizards.”

My squirming stopped, and I froze in the chair, blushing madly.  I wondered if it could get any worse.  Snape was enjoying this _far_ too much, and at the news that I had evidently followed his advice, Sirius gave me a grin.  I glowered back at my infuriating godfather. 

“According to Potter,” Snape continued, “the nature of the link has changed since the last Quidditch match, which would tie in with a ritual that Voldemort carried out the night before the match.  That is, of course, _if_ Potter is telling the truth.  In my opinion, it’s far more likely that Potter has just been crying out for attention, as he has persistently done for the past five years.”

“I haven’t been lying!” I retorted, with my voice barely less than a shout.

“Calm down, Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted, and he looked at me in sympathy.  “I understand how embarrassing this must be for you, but we do need to consider your situation very carefully.”

I looked down at my feet and bit my lip, not trusting myself to not say something that I’d regret in front of everyone.  But my attention was pulled away from my fascinating shoelaces when Lupin asked a question.

“Would Occlumency allow Harry to control it?”

So I was wrong.  It could get worse, much worse.  The last thing I wanted was to have more private time with Snape.  “How _could_ Lupin suggest it?” I thought.  “The Snape-loving bastard.”

To my relief, Snape was as unhappy about the idea as I was.

“I am not having that insolent brat taking it upon himself to go through my personal things.”

“I’m sure Harry is sorry about that incident, Severus,” Lupin said presumptuously, “and is willing to show more restraint this time—”

“Absolutely not, Lupin!”

I saw Sirius’s lip curl at Snape’s determined attitude, and he rose in his seat.  “You selfish—”

But whatever he had been about to call Snape was drowned out by Dumbledore.

“That’s enough!”

**

So I was back to my regular torture sessions with Snape. 

I tried to get it right, I tried to hold my tongue, and I tried not to think up evil ways to get him back for being the most unhelpful bastard he could.  And it worked…for a while. 

Over the next couple of weeks, life proceeded painfully—as I was still fodder for the school populace.  And now, because this problem with the scar had been confirmed, I suddenly had to keep quiet about it; I was no longer allowed my excuse—my _valid reason_ —and I was forced to suffer in silence.  At least, Ron and Hermione finally believed me, and I made sure I did everything I could to make them feel damn guilty for not trusting me in the first place.

Voldemort managed to get his end away on a couple of occasions, and this was mostly free of trauma on my part, although having a reaction when Crabbe and Goyle were cracking their knuckles at me was quite unsettling.  At least the implication that I was attracted to them sent them running down the corridor instead of pummelling my face for insulting Malfoy.

But I was still in a foul mood, and all things considered, it wasn’t really surprising.  My patience was rapidly decreasing.  It was just a matter of time before I lashed out at Snape…

With dinner not long finished, I made my way down to Snape’s dingy office for my daily ritual of torture, pissed off with Voldemort and his sex life, fuming at Malfoy for being such a git, and frustrated that, with all these emotions running around my head, there was no chance I would be able to do well at Occlumency that evening. 

I didn’t fail to meet my expectations. 

“You really do have the most pathetic thoughts running through that thick skull of yours, Potter,” he began in a tirade, after my third unsuccessful attempt.  “It’s a wonder that you manage to function at all.”

I switched off, having had enough of his annoying pomposity.  I knew that if I listened to another word, I would not have been able to restrain myself from sniping back at him; he was just waiting for me to give him another excuse to dock more points from Gryffindor.  So I stood there, mute, pretending to take all his verbal abuse in my stride, when an idea came to me, another way to get back at him.  At the thought of what I was going to do, I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. 

“ _Legilimens_ _!_ ”

So, I let him have it.  One freshly prepared mental image coming up: Snape on all fours, mewling out my name as I buggered him senseless. 

The result was instantaneous.

“GET OUT!”

Somehow, I don’t think I’m destined to learn the art of Occlumency.

So, I returned early to Gryffindor Tower early that night.  Ron and Hermione were curious, and I tried to talk my way around it, but after what had happened the previous year, Hermione adamantly refused to believe me.

“You _are_ going to go back?” she asked.

“Of course, he just had some papers to mark—”

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice was tinged with warning: a warning not to dare lie to her again on this subject.

“Okay,” I said, having resigned myself to her reaction and to the ensuing nagging that would inevitably come with it.  “He kicked me out again.”

“You didn’t go through his pensieve did you?”

“No!” I said emphatically, muttering “didn’t get the chance” under my breath. 

“What _did_ you do?”

“Nothing that I’d dare go back and apologise for.”

“Harry.”

“I’m not telling you, all right.”

I couldn’t resist telling Ron, though, when I went up to the dormitory later.  He, too, found it hilarious, and since then, he hasn’t been able to be in the same room as Snape without having a permanent smirk plastered across his face. 

**

Two days later, and I was greeted by another letter from Sirius.  I glared at Hermione over the table once I noticed the handwriting.  Trust her to go running to my godfather, again.  She pouted back at me. 

_Harry,_

_I know he’s a slimy git, who irritates any normal human being within a five mile radius, but you HAVE to continue with the lessons.  You have to do everything you can to keep safe.  I don’t want to lose you._

_I’ve already lost Remus.  He had a bad transformation this month, and we had to take him to St. Mungo’s; he went missing from there two days ago.   Snivellus believes Voldemort needs werewolf blood for the final part of his immortality ritual, but there’s nothing that can be done without Snape being exposed as a spy.  I don’t see any problem with this, but Albus disagrees._

_You’re all I have left, Harry.  Please take care of yourself—for me._

_Sirius_

I sat there, staring at the letter, my jaw hanging.  Lupin was gone, and what was worse, no one seemed to be doing anything about it.  All because they were too busy trying to save Snape’s worthless hide.  Well, I wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing. 

That morning’s Care of Magical Creatures lesson would have to be sacrificed, for a start.

I knew Hagrid would understand.  Hermione, on the other hand, didn’t, and she refused to see why I couldn’t wait until break time.  She also made it quite clear that, although Ron wanted to go with me, he had no business missing lessons, either.  I walked off in a huff, leaving her to bully Ron into submission.

Storming up to Dumbledore’s office, I found that the greasy git was already there.  Decorum was the furthest thing from my mind. 

I ranted, I shouted, and I swore.  Dumbledore was kind enough to prevent Snape giving me a detention, given the circumstances.  Any sort of control I’d normally have over my speech was lost, and there were several comments concerning the fact that Snape might not be shagging Lupin anymore, but he’d have to be a completely heartless bastard not to care at all.  Going by the slight twitch to Dumbledore’s lips, I think he was rather amused by this. 

But my angry tirade was all in vain. 

When I had calmed down enough to let either of them get a word in edgeways, Dumbledore insisted that there was no way for the information of Lupin’s whereabouts to be leaked, unless it came from Snape, which meant Dumbledore would lose his spy.  I then told them that I would find out for myself, anyway, but they seemed sure there was no way I could achieve this.  And even if I did somehow manage it, they still weren’t willing to take the risk of Voldemort assuming that Snape was the one to have leaked the information.

I wasn’t _allowed_ to do anything.  Like I was going to let that stop me.

**

Herbology was the second class of the morning, and I stood at the back of the class, fuming.  There had to be a way I could find out where Lupin was being kept prisoner, but it seemed I was too agitated to be able to think properly.  At that point, all I was capable of was a constant internal monologue of abuse directed at Snape and Dumbledore. 

And then my scar began to tingle.

My first reaction was to swear, and I received a glare from Hermione for doing so.  The last thing I needed, when trying to think, was to have my brain filled with the seedier side of Voldemort’s social life.  But then I remembered what Snivellus had said about Voldemort exploring the connection.  So, this time, I didn’t shy away from it, and I didn’t let myself get swamped by embarrassment.  Instead, I closed my eyes and immersed myself in it.

I could feel a mouth wrapped around my cock, sucking, and twisting, the sensation of throat muscles pulsing, as the person swallowed around me.  And then there were the hazy details of vision: gnarly fingers buried on white-blonde tresses, pulling at the head, pushing my cock deeper into that warm mouth.  Those fingers yanked the head at an angle, so that the eyes looked upwards.  Shit.  It was Lucius Malfoy.

I had to fight the instinct to shut the link down, and I desperately came up with a heap of reasons why getting off on the sensation of Lucius Malfoy sucking on my penis wasn’t such a bad thing.  The clincher was the thought of being able to tell Draco about it in glorious Technicolor detail at a later date.  His expression would be something that I would want framed. 

Voldemort’s gaze turned away from Lucius’s face, and I could make out a crumbling gravestone to his left that was covered in brambles. 

“Wormtail…” he gasped.  “The blood.  I need it soon.  Cut…the werewolf.”

“Yes, master,” Wormtail replied, and then I could hear a sharp intake of breath in the background. 

Voldemort removed one of his hands from Lucius’s hair to take hold of a vial that Wormtail was holding out.  The liquid inside was red, and I could only assume it was Lupin’s blood. 

“This isn’t a free show, Wormtail,” Voldemort snapped.  “Get that werewolf back in the house.”

Wormtail hurried away, and finally, Voldemort came.  We both came.  Voldemort staggered slightly, leaning against the headstone behind him.  It was a towering, marble headstone, bearing the words “TOM RIDDLE”.  It was his father’s grave in Little Hangleton. 

Having found out the information I needed, I tried to break the link, but fate decided to prolong the contact just a bit longer, leaving me with a few more disturbing thoughts.  Before I could bring myself back round in Herbology, I saw Lucius standing up and moving his mouth towards Voldemort’s at the same time that Voldemort drank the contents of the vial; as Lucius’s lips closed around mine, I could taste both blood and semen.  I rolled over and threw up.

By all accounts, Professor Sprout had been rather taken aback.  It wasn’t everyday that a student suddenly collapsed in her class.  Apparently, I had been writhing on the floor, thrusting my hips upwards and groaning, and everyone had watched in a stunned silence as I came, the wetness seeping through the front of my trousers.

**

Hermione, who like everyone else, was now looking at me with an expression that said, “I really didn’t need to see you doing what you did in Herbology,” thought I should go straight to Dumbledore.  She didn’t want to acknowledge that he wouldn’t act on the information or that he would probably lock me up somewhere to prevent me from doing something rash.  She didn’t think this last point was a bad thing and spent a good portion of our lunch hour listing reasons why I wasn’t to go rushing off to the rescue.  To shut her up, I promised that I wouldn’t go after Lupin.  Like hell I wouldn’t.

As soon as Hermione went up to her room to get her books for the afternoon, I enlisted Ron’s help.  I then left him to walk with Hermione to our Transfiguration lesson while I made a detour to the Owlery.

Not having much time, I kept the letter brief and to the point.

_Sirius,_

_I know where Remus is.  Dumbledore has already said that he won’t do anything if I were to find out for myself, so I’m not going to tell him that I know._

_I’m going tonight, and Ron has agreed to come with me.  I assume that Remus means more to you than keeping that greasy bastard safe.  So, if you can help, meet us by the broomshed at_ _10pm_ _._

_Harry_

_**_

“For the last time, Colin, I’m not interested!  There is no way I am ever going to contemplate getting physical with you, on any level!” 

I didn’t mean to snap, but I was tense, and having Colin interrupt the game of Exploding Snap that Ron and I were currently engaged in to distract ourselves from what we were about to do, set my nerves on edge.  We were due to meet Sirius in ten minutes, and we’d only just managed to get rid of Hermione without her becoming suspicious. 

Colin looked ready to burst into tears.  Casting a brief, embarrassed look in Ron’s direction, he rushed off out of the Common Room. 

After half-heartedly continuing to play for a bit longer, we agreed that it was time to make a move.

Sirius was already waiting at the broomshed with his broomstick in hand when we arrived.  I had my Firebolt with me, but we needed to break into the shed to get another one for Ron.  To my surprise, the door was already open.

As I peered into the gloom, I heard the sound of a startled gasp coming from the back wall. 

“Who’s there?”  I asked, hoping it was someone I wouldn’t feel guilty about casting _Petrificus_ _Totalis_ on.  

The grey outline of a figure shuffled forwards, and I held my breath in anticipation.  It was a red-eyed Colin. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, glancing between me, Ron and Sirius. 

“I can’t tell you, Colin.  And I’m really sorry, but I’m—”

“Can I help?” he asked hurriedly as I raised my wand ready to hex him.  “Please, I want to.  You know I’d do anything for you, Harry.”

I exchanged a look with the others, and they nodded at me to show they thought that an extra wand wouldn’t do any harm.

“We’re going to rescue Professor Lupin.”

**

As we approached the cemetery, I felt a wave of nausea rush over me at the memory of what happened there before, and I shook my head to clear it.  I needed to concentrate on finding Lupin.  On one side was the outline of a small church which was visible beyond a large yew tree; on the other there was a hill, upon which stood a fine, old house—the house where Lupin was being kept. 

Hearing footsteps approaching, we stopped when we reached the tree and hid, squashed together behind its thick trunk.  It was Voldemort and Wormtail.

Voldemort walked up to his father’s headstone, absently running a finger along the top of it.

“I believe the ritual will work tonight,” he said.  “With the help of the werewolf, I will finally become immortal.”

“Do you want to summon the others, master?”

“Not yet, imbecile.  We need to set up the cauldron and begin the preliminary incantations before I can commence with the main ritual.”

Wormtail began to scurry around the graveyard, placing candles in what seemed to be specific locations.

“If we’re seen,” Sirius whispered, “we can’t let him near Wormtail or we’ll be overrun with Death Eaters: he’ll be able to summon them using Wormtail’s Mark.”

I nodded.  “We need to get Lupin out while they’re busy setting up.  But how are we going to get to the house without them noticing us?”

“We need some sort of distraction,” Sirius said, “one that doesn’t risk any of us getting caught by Voldemort.”

And then it came to me: I could distract him.  But I knew it would have to be more than just wanking, seeing as he had only found that funny.  And I would have to keep my eyes closed this time; I couldn’t let him realise that I was only yards away from him.

“Colin, you know you said you’d do anything for me,” I began tentatively.  I cringed at the thought of what I was about to ask him, but there seemed to be no other way to help Lupin.

He looked up and nodded, pleased that I wanted his help.

“I wasn’t lying before, about my scar.  And it’s something that works both ways.  I can distract him, but I’d need your…help.  Will you…” I trailed off, not knowing exactly what I wanted him to do and wishing that both Ron and Sirius would just piss off and stop staring at me as if I’d grown an extra head. 

I glared at them.

“Just don’t watch, okay?” I insisted.  “You’ll know soon enough if it’s working, and then you can get to Lupin.”

Colin stepped nearer.  I could hear his breathing speed up as I tore a strip from my robes.

“I can’t risk opening my eyes, or he’ll know where I am,” I explained as I wrapped it around my head to serve as a blindfold.   Then I could feel Colin in front of me, and he placed his hands on my shoulders.  “I don’t care _what_ you do—just make sure it’s a _big_ distraction.  And make it sudden; don’t lead me into anything slowly.  We don’t want to give him time to get used to the idea.”

Colin’s hands moved to the buckle of my trousers.  Within seconds, I was standing there with my trousers around my ankles, cold air hitting my flesh.

I gasped as he wrapped his mouth around my penis, taking the whole length of me in one go.  At the same moment, he had both hands on my buttocks, prising my cheeks apart and a wet finger was running over my entrance.  Sliding his lips up to the tip, he pushed at me with his hands, encouraging me to fuck his mouth.  I jerked forwards, driving deeply into that warmth, and then pulled backwards, gasping as he used my movement to impale me onto his finger.  I pushed forwards again, and his finger withdrew part-way.  Again I pulled back to get more of that finger inside me. 

I didn’t know where I wanted to be most.  I was stuck in limbo, bucking between mouth and hand, wanting to be buried in his mouth as much as I wanted to feel that solid digit rammed firmly all the way up to the knuckle.  I curled my hand into a fist and shoved it into my mouth, scared that I would make too much noise.  In the distance I could hear shouts, and the sound of spells being cast.  _Oh, God.  They’ve been seen.  Just let this be enough of a distraction,_ I pleaded silently.  I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer; this was far too good for me to be able to stave off my orgasm.

But then, Colin moved a hand to the base of my cock, and tightly curled his fingers around it.  I couldn’t come; he wasn’t going to let me.  The bastard. 

All too soon, I could hear Ron’s voice.

“Er… you can stop now,” he mumbled awkwardly.  “Professor Lupin is safe.”

At Ron’s words, Colin instantly removed his mouth and hands, and I couldn’t restrain a moan of frustration at the sudden loss of contact.  I grabbed for the blindfold to see Colin standing there with a huge grin on his face.  Actually, it was more of a self-satisfied smirk.  He was far too pleased to have brought me so far and then not let me go any further—it seemed he felt that this was my just desserts for “leading him on” on the Quidditch pitch.

“You might want to hurry up and get dressed, Harry,” Ron said, blushing and looking distractedly between me and Colin.  “Sirius is stalling them, but one or more of the Aurors are bound to come round here in a minute.”

I quickly covered myself, trying to jam my erect cock back into the confines of my clothing.  Then I realised what he had said.

“Aurors?” I asked.

It turned out that Hermione had known better than to believe my promise, or Ron’s protestations that we weren’t going with her to study in the library because we needed an early night.  She had even checked, much to Seamus’s disgruntlement.  Finding our room empty, apart from one masturbating Irish boy, she had gone straight to Dumbledore. 

The distraction had worked, very well in fact.  The sudden sensations had literally brought him to his knees.  And at that same moment, the Order had arrived.  Voldemort, who was doubled over in my pleasure, was no match for them.  And with Voldemort over powered by the others, Sirius took the opportunity—and the pleasure—to do things to Wormtail that he had been dreaming about for years. 

**

So, Lupin is safe, Voldemort is no more, and ahead of me lays the opportunity to live a normal life.  At ten o'clock tonight, I intend to start by getting to grips with my sexuality.  And who better to do that with than Colin Creevey?


End file.
